


Cold Midnight

by Avia_Isadora



Series: Four Nights to Rome [2]
Category: The Borgias (Showtime TV)
Genre: Multi, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:21:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29682504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avia_Isadora/pseuds/Avia_Isadora
Summary: Giulia Farnese and Lucretia Borgia are now the captives of the French king, and cold midnight brings its own truths.This goes in Episode 1.8 "The Art of War."
Relationships: Lucrezia Borgia/Giulia Farnese, Rodrigo Borgia | Pope Alexander VI/Giulia Farnese
Series: Four Nights to Rome [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2181156
Kudos: 3





	Cold Midnight

_The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight._

_Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh._

_Shakespeare, Richard III_

The second night Giulia sleeps because she must in the tents of the French King. She did not sleep the night before. She cannot stay forever wakeful, even though they are prisoners, surrounded by twenty-five thousand men, many of whom would share them in a second. There are walls of cloth. There is a sentry provided by His Majesty. And that is all.

No doubt were she the whore that Cardinal della Rovere called her to her face, she would have some experience of the camps of armies. She would be wise in their ways. She would know how to tell the difference between a curious glance, an appreciative leer, and real menace. But she is not. She was a young married woman and then for two years the mistress of a man who loves her. She has not made her living on her back except in the most genteel of ways. Her experience is too limited to give her the knowledge her sisters in sin have.

She does not disrobe. She will sleep a second night in this dress on the camp cot provided in what is no doubt a very nice tent, a blanket pulled up to her chin. She cannot stay awake.

It is cold midnight when she wakes, and for a moment her heart beats fast as screams for there is someone beside her. But the scent, the touch of an embroidered shoulder against her face, stops her. It is Lucretia. She has crawled in beside her rather than sleeping on her own cot, curled like a kitten with her back against Giulia. Giulia smiles, her heart slowing again. Lucretia was brilliant, fascinating, commanding. She had the King of France eating out of her hand. It is because of her, because of her charm and her wit and yes, her fresh beauty, that they are ostensibly guests rather than loot. How could any man resist radiant Lucretia? And offered the role of duenna, Giulia stepped into her role gratefully. She is no actress, but she knows better than to step on the leading lady’s lines. Instead, she simply fed Lucretia the openings she needed. 

Now, worn out and no doubt as frightened as she is, Lucretia sleeps in her arms. It is purely innocent. Giulia is certain of that. Lucretia has only just discovered the sweeter pleasures in the arms of Paolo the groom, a lovely youth whose unspoiled, rustic beauty no doubt seemed fresh. She has probably not discovered the range of things that do not involve a male organ, or that can please without penetration. She certainly had a more limited range two years ago, for all that a girlhood friend had provided range for experimentation.

Giulia sighs. Absolute folly to even think of such a thing. Her lover’s daughter, and in the midst of a camp of men? Her lover’s daughter in the first months of pregnancy? And yet there is the scent of Lucretia’s hair, the soft sound of her breath, the movement of her back against Giulia’s stomach. Utter folly. 

“Giulia? Is everything all right?” Lucretia whispers sleepily.

Giulia smooths her hair back, her hand as tender as a mother’s. “Yes, my dear,” she says. “It is cold midnight.” She settles the blanket better over them both.

“The time when spirits walk,” Lucretia says.

“There are no spirits here,” Giulia replies.

“They come for murderers, or so my old nurse said.” 

“There are no murderers here either,” Giulia says. At least she is not one.

There is a pause. “I contrived…” Lucretia begins. “My husband’s accident. It was no accident.” She breaks off.

“Giovanni Sforza is not dead,” Giulia says. “So he has not been murdered.” 

“He could have died,” Lucretia whispers. “I wish he had.” 

“Then you may confess that you wished him dead,” Giulia says briskly. “But since he is not dead, you have not murdered him.” She lightens her voice. “If I were the murderer of everyone I had ever wished dead!”

“You?” Lucretia moves a little, shifting against her. “You are so kind and even-tempered.” 

“Perhaps I seem so.” She learned long ago to keep her desires close and her hatreds even closer.

Lucretia twists as if trying to face her, but that is impossible on the narrow cot without someone tumbling on the floor. “I cannot imagine you so passionate.” 

_Your father would have no trouble imagining it_ , she nearly says, but stops short. Those are not words for Lucretia. “No one is murdering anyone and no spirits are walking,” she says in her best no-nonsense duenna voice. “But we should rest. Tomorrow will be a difficult day.” 

“You are right of course,” Lucretia says, and sighs as she settles back against her. “I am very glad you are here.” 

“So am I,” Giulia says. Lucretia is asleep before her eyes close.


End file.
